...Snowflake. The family took the bear everywhere with them, as if it were a dog.

One day, the family decided to go to Disneyland for vacation, and decided that Snowflake would be better off not going...as pets are not allowed in amusement parks.

Upon hearing this, Snowflake broke into a rage! " If I' m not going, then no one is!"

Snowflake proceeded to attack and eat each of the family members.

Shortly thereafter, Snowflake found himself sitting atop the family toilet...doing guess what? Wiping his brown-stained fur...

until his ass could not take anymore. After he had ate the family and wiped his ass raw he popped some popcorn and watched his favorite movie " Pearl Harbor." He found himself crying when his mother walked into the house.

He was shocked, his mother was dead, how could this be. He ran to her arms for a warm embrass but all of the sudden...

...she liquified! Yes ladies and gents, she was a T-1000 sent from the future to become the mother of a cross-breed Machine and (the plot twist) Human!

Human?! But, this story is about a bear! Or so we were led to beleive. As it turns out these " bears" were actually cross bred Human Bears! So the final result of this sex frenzy was a Human-Bear-Machine-Waffle (the bears were part waffle...)! My god indeed. The abomination of all abominations, was a threat to all life as we know it and it needed to be destroyed!

Que in Dr. Hallyavard-Enryk Ascalio Denbeurgh III or HEAD for short. Dr. Head is our only hope for survival on this distant planet Exon 341-2. However, there' s just one problem...he' s in a coma. So its up to his assistant Dr. Doktore, the first ' chimp' to get a degree in medicine and the founder of the cure for the common cold (2 Parts bannana 3 parts fecal matter). Neways this is where his adventure begins...

Just as Dr. Doktore was making plans to save mankind, the door was busted in by the world organization known as S.Y.R.U.P. (Save Your Re-engineered Urban Products) - a radical organization bent on the saving, rather than destroying, mankind' s techno-bloopers.

Their mission - rather than help mankind (and all life) move somewhere else, they wish to stop the Human-Bear-Machine-Waffle by pouring thick maple syrup all over its working parts in the hopes that the monstrosity will be gummed up enough to contain and send IT to Exon 341-2!

Dr. Doktore likes the idea and agrees to help...

and packs up all his stuff. They hit the road to head to the hang out of all these beastly things. When they arrive and IHOP they go inside and have themselve some stuffed crepes, trying to keep a low profile. They sit down and start eating when a siren starts going off and something strange begins to happen, all the " people" begin to...

...panic! It appears that Dennys is offering a Double Grand Slam breakfast for cheaper than IHOP' s price for their Rootie-Tootie Fresh and Fruity breakfast!!!

After hearing this, Dr. Doktore yells out " That' s it...I have figured out how to capture and send the Human-Bear-Machine-Waffle to Exon 341-2!!!

As all of IHOP' s patrons head for the Dennys just down the street, Dr. Doktore begins to explain his ingenious plan to save mankind.

He begins by explaining that Dennys' maple syrup is known as the thickest in all the world. He adds that there is a scheduled shuttle launch in a week. With a few modifications, the shuttle could be made durable enough to get to Exon 341-2.

He immediately instructs the members of S.Y.R.U.P. to get the one item that would enable the shuttle to reach Exon 341-2, and that item is...

Lucky Charms! That' s right those hearts, stars, horseshoes, clovers, and blue moons. Pots of of golden rainbows and me red balloons. Are the answer to their problem. So they head out to find the silly little lephercon but he is so hard to find. But then they remember his magic revealing marshmellows. They pour a bowl of the cereal and watch as the milk changes the marshmellows into a map, it turns out that he is hidden in...

Florida - the last place you' d think to look for a leprechaun.

With this new knowledge, Dr. Doktore (and the crew from S.Y.R.U.P.) set out for Florida to finally to meet up with the leprechaun. They finally reach their destination, meet with the leprechaun know as Shiny Arse, and acquire the ingredients to make the magic that will power the shuttle to Exon 341-2.

Now to find the Human-Bear-Machine-Waffle creature...

Dr. Doktore knows that they must still pour that Denny' s syrup on the Human-Bear-Machine-Waffle creature, contain and transport it to the shuttle, reprogram the shuttle to the destination coordinates, and apply the leprechaun' s magic...

All this before the shuttle' s expected launch time!

How could all this be done? Who would handle what?

Luckily, Dr. Doktore was also a cloning specialist and was able to create an army of clones in only 24 hours!

Dr. Doktore instructs his army of clones to locate, capture, and transport the Human-Bear-Machine-Waffle creature to the shuttle site before launch time.

The crew from S.Y.R.U.P., along with Dr, Doktore, headed for the shuttle site to make preparations for the soon-to-arrive creature.

Upon arriving at the shuttle site, Dr. Doktore and company began to cry.

Something terrible had happened...

BEEEEEEP

Please stay tuned for a message from your Emergency Broadcasting System...

Due to the complete insanity of this program (and their writers), we regret to inform you that it has been discontinued.

BEEEEEEP

" OMFG NOOOOOOOO" Yelled out lil Jimmy Jane Dotson of 45th muk street. As the high pitched beep peirced his eardrums, he bagan to cry out all sorts of harsh words (not permitted on this site). His program his favorite tueday evening show... gone... gone and replaced by this brain raping noise!

" Heads will roll for this! May the demonic power within unleash upon those who attempt to end what is my only means of my life! I summon the crimson book of Hak Ruganda before me!" As he began chanting in a freakishly scary voice, his monther walked in, " Jimmy Jane Dotson what in gods name do you think your doing in here!? If your father knew you were messing with his books you' d be a butt blistered lil man by now!" She grabbed him by the ear and dragged him to the restroom, where she then drowned him in acid and ate nething that remained! MUAHAHAHAHAHHAHAAHAH!!!!

In the background the beep could be heard, but heard for only 30 more seconds. " Ha! Just kiddin ppl we wont end it now come on back and enjoy the rest of program."

The program started up again and the suspense had been lost. For the first thing that was seen was a lost dog searching for pirates. It didn' t make sense, how did this fit in with the plot of the story, oh my god HOW!??

I am recently back in the single crowd trying to date and meet new people after my long term girlfriend and I had to break up. We didn’t have to, but when you find out she’s banging an English guy from the BBC while you’re doing comedy in some shit hole in America… you realize that it may be a good idea to smash her laptop against a wall and break up with her.

Needless to say I’ve been going out and trying to meet girls and I’m honestly not that into it. It’s not that I’m thinking about going gay like Ricky and Josh, but I don’t like the “dating scene.” Maybe I’m not a “real guy” and spending “all my money” on “annoying girls” and “talking to them about nothing I care about” is really fucking cool. But I doubt it. The only reason I’m even doing this is to have sex . So really what I' m looking for is just a slut. I’m out on a mission, but if I succeed it will only be with a whore. I’m not going your ever meet a cool girl at a bar. “Mom this is my wife. We met at Jimmy’s Bar and Grill. She was drunk and I was lonely. After she blew me in an open stall I knew we were soul mates.”

So unless you are really into annoying girls; I say throw on a wig, take a bong hit, and jerk off. It will feel kind of weird but if you look in the mirror really fast while you’re doing it, you will think you’re giving a hand job to a female version of you who also happens to have a cock (huge one).

NOTE: Do not use a silly clown wig. It may bring back to many secrets.

I know what you’re thinking “Dan that’s weird! Dating isn’t that bad!” However dating is bad and masturbating with a wig is the best alternative.

I came to this dating conclusion when I went out with a girl and after several drinks and a chicken skew, I started convincing myself that bald chicks are probably good in bed. So cut to: my apartment and she’s all over me. Which is fine but she was on top of me moaning and I wasn’t even doing anything. I was just thinking about how awesome Russell Crowe would be as a cartoon, and then she says the infamous words “I never do this…” and I’m like “I think you do this ALL THE TIME! Please get your bald whore-ness out of my bed”. I mean she couldn’t have been sluttier if I bought her on the street for 17 dollars and 46 cents. I was totally turned off by her aggressive behavior. And this has turned me off from the ENTIRE dating scene.

So as of now, if you are coming over to my place to hang out please do not freak out if I’m wearing a wig, just cover your eyes.

With that said I now leave you with an even more bizarre story from the write of fight club. You wont find this in any book for it was a live speaking in which some of the audience became ill. It reads quite fast so dont feel overwhelmed by the size and amout of scrolling you have to do.

GUTS
By: Chuck Palahniuk

Inhale.

Take in as much air as you can.

This story should last about as long as you can hold your breath, and then just a little bit longer. So listen as fast as you can.

A friend of mine, when he was 13 years old he heard about " pegging." This is when a guy gets banged up the butt with a dildo. Stimulate the prostate gland hard enough, and the rumor is you can have explosive hands-free orgasms. At that age, this friend' s a little sex maniac. He' s always jonesing for a better way to get his rocks off. He goes out to buy a carrot and some petroleum jelly. To conduct a little private research. Then he pictures how it' s going to look at the supermarket checkout counter, the lonely carrot and petroleum jelly rolling down the conveyer belt toward the grocery store cashier. All the shoppers waiting in line, watching. Everyone seeing the big evening he has planned.

So my friend, he buys milk and eggs and sugar and a carrot, all the ingredients for a carrot cake. And Vaseline.

Like he' s going home to stick a carrot cake up his butt.

At home, he whittles the carrot into a blunt tool. He slathers it with grease and grinds his ass down on it. Then, nothing. No orgasm. Nothing happens except it hurts.

Then, this kid, his mom yells it' s supper time. She says to come down, right now.

He works the carrot out and stashes the slippery, filthy thing in the dirty clothes under his bed.

After dinner, he goes to find the carrot, and it' s gone. All his dirty clothes, while he ate dinner, his mom grabbed them all to do laundry. No way could she not find the carrot, carefully shaped with a paring knife from her kitchen, still shiny with lube and stinky.

This friend of mine, he waits months under a black cloud, waiting for his folks to confront him. And they nev­er do. Ever. Even now that he' s grown up, that invisible carrot hangs over every Christmas dinner, every birthday party. Every Easter egg hunt with his kids, his parents' grandkids, that ghost carrot is hovering over all of them. That something too awful to name.

People in France have a phrase: " staircase wit." In French: esprit de l' escalier. It means that moment when you find the answer, but it' s too late. Say you' re at a par­ty and someone insults you. You have to say something. So under pressure, with everybody watching, you say something lame. But the moment you leave the party....

As you start down the stairway, then-magic. You come up with the perfect thing you should' ve said. The perfect crippling put-down.

That’s the spirit of the stairway.

The trouble is, even the French don' t have a phrase for the stupid things you actually do say under pressure. Those stupid, desperate things you actually think or do.

Some deeds are too low to even get a name. Too low to even get talked about.

Looking back, kid-psych experts, school counselors now say that most of the last peak in teen suicide was kids trying to choke while they beat off. Their folks would find them, a towel twisted around their kid' s neck, the towel tied to the rod in their bedroom closet, the kid dead. Dead sperm every­where. Of course the folks cleaned up. They put some pants on their kid. They made it look ... better. Intentional at least. The regular kind of sad teen suicide.

Another friend of mine, a kid from school, his older brother in the Navy said how guys in the Middle East jack off different than we do here. This brother was stationed in some camel country where the public market sells what could be fancy letter openers. Each fancy tool is just a thin rod of pol­ished brass or silver, maybe as long as your hand, with a big tip at one end, ei­ther a big metal ball or the kind of fan­cy carved handle you' d see on a sword. This Navy brother says how Arab guys get their dick hard and then insert this metal rod inside the whole length of their boner. They jack off with the rod inside, and it makes getting off so much better. More intense.

It' s this big brother who travels around the world, sending back French phrases. Russian phrases. Helpful jack-off tips.

After this, the little brother, one day he doesn' t show up at school. That night, he calls to ask if I' ll pick up his homework for the next couple weeks. Because he' s in the hospital.

He' s got to share a room with old people getting their guts worked on. He says how they all have to share the same television. All he' s got for privacy is a curtain. His folks don' t come and visit. On the phone, he says how right now his folks could just kill his big brother in the Navy.

On the phone, the kid says how-the day before-he was just a little stoned. At home in his bedroom, he was flopped on the bed. He was lighting a candle and flipping through some old porno magazines, getting ready to beat off. This is after he' s heard from his Navy brother. That helpful hint about how Arabs beat off. The kid looks around for something that might do the job. A ballpoint pen' s too big. A pencil' s too big and rough. But dripped down the side of the candle, there' s a thin, smooth ridge of wax that just might work. With just the tip of one finger, this kid snaps the long ridge of wax off the candle. He rolls it smooth between the palms of his hands. Long and smooth and thin.

Stoned and horny, he slips it down inside, deeper and deeper into the piss slit of his boner. With a good hank of the wax still poking out the top, he gets to work.

Even now, he says those Arab guys are pretty damn smart. They' ve totally reinvented jacking off. Flat on his back in bed, things are getting so good, this kid can' t keep track of the wax. He' s one good squeeze from shooting his wad when the wax isn' t sticking out anymore.

The thin wax rod, it' s slipped inside. All the way inside. So deep inside he can' t even feel the lump of it inside his piss tube.

From downstairs, his mom shouts it' s supper time. She says to come down, right now. This wax kid and the carrot kid are different people, but we all live pretty much the same life.

It' s after dinner when the kid' s guts start to hurt. It' s wax, so he figured it would just melt inside him and he' d pee it out. Now his back hurts. His kid­neys. He can' t stand straight.

This kid talking on the phone from his hospital bed, in the background you can hear bells ding, people scream­ing. Game shows.

The X-rays show the truth, some­thing long and thin, bent double inside his bladder. This long, thin V inside him, it' s collecting all the minerals in his piss. It' s getting bigger and rougher, coated with crystals of calci­um, it' s bumping around, ripping up the soft lining of his bladder, blocking his piss from getting out. His kidneys are backed up. What little that leaks out his dick is red with blood.

This kid and his folks, his whole fam­ily, them looking at the black X-ray with the doctor and the nurses stand­ing there, the big V of wax glowing white for everybody to see, he has to tell the truth. The way Arabs get off. What his big brother wrote him from the Navy.

On the phone, right now, he starts to cry.

They paid for the bladder operation with his college fund. One stupid mis­take, and now he' ll never be a lawyer.

Sticking stuff inside yourself. Stick­ing yourself inside stuff. A candle in your dick or your head in a noose, we knew it was going to be big trouble.

What got me in trouble, I called it Pearl Diving. This meant whacking off underwater, sitting on the bottom at the deep end of my parents' swimming pool. With one deep breath, I' d kick my way to the bottom and slip off my swim trucks. I' d sit down there for two, three, four minutes.

Just from jacking oft' I had huge lung capacity. If I had the house to myself, I' d do this all afternoon. After I' d finally pump out my stuff, my sperm, it would hang there in big, fat, milky gobs.

After that was more diving, to catch it all. To collect it and wipe each hand­ful in a towel. That' s why it was called Pearl Diving. Even with chlorine, there was my sister to worry about. Or, Christ almighty, my mom.

That used to be my worst fear in the world: my teenage virgin sister, think­ing she' s just getting fat, then giving birth to a two-headed, retard baby. Both heads looking just like me. Me, the father and the uncle.

In the end, it' s never what you worry about that gets you.

The best part of Pearl Diving was the inlet port for the swimming pool filter and the circulation pump. The best part was getting naked and sit­ting on it.

As the French would say, Who doesn' t like getting their butt sucked? Still, one minute you' re just a kid getting off, and the next minute you' ll never be a lawyer.

One minute I' m settling on the pool bottom and the sky is wavy, light blue through eight feet of water above my head. The world is silent except for the heartbeat in my ears. My yellow­striped swim trunks are looped around my neck for safe keeping, just in case a friend, a neighbor, anybody shows up to ask why I skipped foot­ball practice. The steady suck of the pool inlet hole is lapping at me and I' m grinding my skinny white ass around on that feeling.

One minute I' ve got enough air and my dick' s in my hand. My folks are gone at their work and my sister' s got ballet. Nobody' s supposed to be home for hours.

My hand brings me right to getting off, and I stop. I swim up to catch an­other big breath. I dive down and settle on the bottom.

I do this again and again.

This must be why girls want to sit on your face. The suction is like taking a dump that never ends. My dick hard and getting my butt eaten out, I do not need air. My heartbeat in my ears, I stay under until bright stars of light start worming around in my eyes. My legs straight out, the back of each knee rubbed raw against the concrete bot­tom. My toes are turning blue, my toes and fingers wrinkled from being so long in the water.

And then I let it happen. The big white gobs start spouting. The pearls. It' s then I need some air. But when I go to kick off against the bottom, I can' t. I can' t get my feet under me. My ass is stuck.

Emergency paramedics will tell you that every year about 150 people get stuck this way, sucked by a circulation pump. Get your long hair caught, or your ass, and you' re going to drown. Every year, tons of people do. Most of them in Florida.

People just don' t talk about it. Not even French people talk about everything. Getting one knee up, getting one foot tucked under me, I get to half standing when I feel the tug against my butt. Get­ting my other foot under me, I kick off against the bottom. I' m kicking free, not touching the concrete, but not getting to the air, either.

Still kicking water, thrashing with both arms, I' m maybe halfway to the surface but not going higher. The heartbeat in­side my head getting loud and fast.

The bright sparks of light crossing and crisscrossing my eyes, I turn and look back ... but it doesn' t make sense. This thick rope, some kind of snake, blue­white and braided with veins, has come up out of the pool drain and it' s holding on to my butt. Some of the veins are leaking blood, red blood that looks black underwater and drifts away from little rips in the pale skin of the snake. The blood trails away, disappearing in the water, and inside the snake' s thin, blue­white skin you can see lumps of some half-digested meal.

That' s the only way this makes sense. Some horrible sea monster, a sea serpent, something that' s never seen the light of day, it' s been hiding in the dark bottom of the pool drain, waiting to eat me.

So ...I kick at it, at the slippery, rub­bery knotted skin and veins of it, and more of it seems to pull out of the pool drain. It' s maybe as long as my leg now, but still holding tight around my butt­hole. With another kick, I' m an inch closer to getting another breath. Still feeling the snake tug at my ass, I' m an inch closer to my escape.

Knotted inside the snake, you can see corn and peanuts. You can see a long bright-orange ball. It' s the kind of horse­pill vitamin my dad makes me take, to help put on weight. To get a football scholarship. With extra iron and omega­three fatty acids.

It' s seeing that vitamin pill that saves my life.

It' s not a snake. It' s my large intestine, my colon pulled out of me. What doctors call prolapsed. It' s my guts sucked into the drain.

Paramedics will tell you a swimming pool pump pulls 80 gallons of water every minute. That' s about 400 pounds of pressure. The big problem is we' re all connected together inside. Your ass is just the far end of your mouth. If I let go, the pump keeps working-unravel­ing my insides-until it' s got my tongue. Imagine taking a 400-pound *** and you can see how this might turn you inside out.

What I can tell you is your guts don' t feel much pain. Not the way your skin feels pain. The stuff you' re digesting, doctors call it fecal matter. Higher up is chyme, pockets of a thin, runny mess studded with corn and peanuts and round green peas.

That' s all this soup of blood and corn, *** and sperm and peanuts floating around me. Even with my guts unravel­ing out my ass, me holding on to what' s left, even then my first want is to some­how get my swimsuit back on.

God forbid my folks see my dick.

My one hand holding a fist around my ass, my other hand snags my yellow­striped swim trunks and pulls them from around my neck. Still, getting into them is impossible.

You want to feel your intestines, go buy a pack of those lambskin condoms. Take one out and unroll it. Pack it with peanut butter. Smear it with petroleum jelly and hold it under water. Then try to tear it. Try to pull it in half. It' s too tough and rubbery. It' s so slimy you can' t hold on.

A lambskin condom, that' s just plain old intestine.

You can see what I' m up against.

You let go for a second and you' re gutted.

You swim for the surface, for a breath, and you' re gutted.

You don' t swim and you drown.

It' s a choice between being dead right now or a minute from right now.

What my folks will find after work is a big naked fetus, curled in on itself. Floating in the cloudy water of their backyard pool. Tethered to the bottom by a thick rope of veins and twisted guts. The opposite of a kid hanging himself to death while he jacks off. This is the baby they brought home from the hospital 13 years ago. Here' s the kid they hoped would snag a football schol­arship and get an MBA. Who' d care for them in their old age. Here' s all their hopes and dreams. Floating here, naked and dead. All around him, big milky pearls of wasted sperm.

Either that or my folks will find me wrapped in a bloody towel, collapsed halfway from the pool to the kitchen tele­phone, the ragged, torn scrap of my guts still hanging out the leg of my yellow­striped swim trunks.

What even the French won' t talk about.

That big brother in the Navy, he taught us one other good phrase. A Russian phrase. The way we say, " I need that like I need a hole in my head...," Russian people say, " I need that like I need teeth in my asshole......

Mne eto nado kak zuby v zadnitse.

Those stories about how animals caught in a trap will chew off their leg, well, any coyote would tell you a couple bites beats the hell out of being dead.

Hell ... even if you' re Russian, someday you just might want those teeth.

Otherwise, what you have to do is­you have to twist around. You hook one elbow behind your knee and pull that leg up into your face. You bite and snap at your own ass. You run out of air and you will chew through anything to get that next breath.

It' s not something you want to tell a girl on the first date. Not if you expect a kiss good night.

If I told you how it tasted, you would never, ever again eat calamari.

It' s hard to say what my parents were more disgusted by: how I' d got in trou­ble or how I' d saved myself. After the hospital, my mom said, " You didn' t know what you were doing, honey. You were in shock." And she learned how to cook poached eggs.

All those people grossed out or feeling sorry for me....

I need that like I need teeth in my asshole.

Nowadays, people always tell me I look too skinny. People at dinner parties get all quiet and pissed off when I don' t eat the pot roast they cooked. Pot roast kills me. Baked ham. Anything that hangs around inside my guts for longer than a couple of hours, it comes out still food. Home-cooked lima beans or chunk light tuna fish, I' ll stand up and find it still sitting there in the toilet.

After you have a radical bowel resec­tioning, you don' t digest meat so great. Most people, you have five feet of large intestine. I' m lucky to have my six inch­es. So I never got a football scholarship. Never got an MBA. Both my friends, the wax kid and the carrot kid, they grew up, got big, but I' ve never weighed a pound more than I did that day when I was 13.

Another big problem was my folks paid a lot of good money for that swim­ming pool. In the end my dad just told the pool guy it was a dog. The family dog fell in and drowned. The dead body got pulled into the pump. Even when the pool guy cracked open the filter casing and fished out a rubbery tube, a watery hank of intestine with a big orange vita­min pill still inside, even then my dad just said, " That dog was ***ing nuts."

Even from my upstairs bedroom window, you could hear my dad say, " We couldn' t trust that dog alone for a second...."

Then my sister missed her period.

Even after they changed the pool water, after they sold the house and we moved to another state, after my sister' s abortion, even then my folks never men­tioned it again.

Ever.

That is our invisible carrot.

You. Now you can take a good, deep breath.

I still have not.

The end.

The end.

Yeah...after that intestine story, it was pretty much over...

Somehow, the original story turned into personal stories from Kikizo members.

that Guts story still haunts me to this day. [:' (]

that Guts story still haunts me to this day.

It haunts all of us now...

The images that fill my mind...

The horror of it all...

***(in the corner - curled up in the fetal position)***

You LOVE it!

Neways if possible..lets start a new story!




System Reboot ( 3/16/56 ) . . .
Scan Analysis in progress . . .
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Scan Complete . . .
System start in T- 10
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System C lear. . .
Storage Chamber Opening Please Clear Floor and Prep C1 Crew now. . .

" C1 Crew ready up! Maintenance and Recovery ready up!" shouted a thick german voice from the surrounding speakers. A swarm of crew workers organized just below the large green tube, awaiting to put their training to work for the first time since the project started 4 years ago. A slender shadow of a figure could barly be seen within the murky water. After a 30 second pause just after the announcement the tube began to drain. Robotic arms with preset orders start out and held the figure in place and inserted needles in various parts of its body. Despite the clearity of the glass, the robotic arms in motion managed to still make hard to see what this figure actually was. Just as the tube emptied, smoked filtered and filled in the 20 cubic feet of space. Like a cheesy magic trick, just as the smoke cleared, the figure was gone. A few of the workers clapped at the humor of the situation. The Doctor was rather happy at the gesture, glad to see after all these years of hard work and preparation that the workers still had a sence of humor in them. Still the tension and stress was in the air.

Gears quietly rotated beneath the crew as a pair of doors slid open in the floor. Rather crude for this day and age but much of the budget went into the expieriment instead of the actual base of operations. As the doors opened a table with a blanketed female body rose. The crew formed a 3 rowed paremeter around the table standing tall and silent. " C1 ready stun prods..." the doctor dimmed all the lights except for one which glew brightly on the female. " Biana...time to wake up...Beeeeoncaaaa." There was no movement. " Worker 103 please ready adrenyline needle, we may need to force a manual wake up." One of the generic crew works stepped out in a military fashion and brought forward a large gun with a 5 inch needle at the nose of it. " Ready injection 103," the worker lowered the needle to the forarm of the female, just barly breaking the skin " Bia..." Her eyes shot open and with unimaginable speed she grabbed the needle and forced all 5 inches of needle and 2 inches of barrel into the workers skull.

Subject Alive and Stable. . .
Thank You and Have a Nice Day. . .

Neways if possible..lets start a new story!

Sorry MassX, that' s just not possible. I' m afraid that moment has passed us by and can never be recaptured again. It' s time for us to move on. Perhaps we can all join a recipe ring and share our favorite biscuit recipes. I hear Dr Phil is looking for people to appear on his show, perhaps if anyone here has a significant other that also posts , they could call him and have some 1 on 1 time with him. It' s just important for us all to move on and worry about more important things like this:

http://www.toiletpaperworld.com/tpw/encyclopedia/navigation/funfacts.htm

My favorite corn biscuits

Don' t be shy anybody now!